


Spring in the Valley of Death

by Lil_Redhead



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Captain Swan Little Bang 2017, F/M, Hades and Persephone AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Redhead/pseuds/Lil_Redhead
Summary: Queen Emma of the Underworld enlists the help of a magical healer when her son falls deathly ill. Killian Jones, one of the best healers alive, is Emma's last hope. But with so many people who need him, he can't stay down in the Underworld forever. With the help of a few pomegranate seeds, he may not have a choice.





	Spring in the Valley of Death

 

**Seed I**

They called him  _ Healer of the Sea  _ because the seas seemed to calm their agonized rage when he stepped on the shoreline. With one dip of his hand into the cool waves, he could bring restoration in the form of clear water. Where the man sailed, the ocean saw peace. And perhaps he did heal the ocean of its torments in the form of hurricanes and storms, but the true meaning of his name went beyond its shores. 

Those who met him knew him as a healer of people, and soon, those who merely heard of him knew him this way as well. Testimonies arose from across the seas and back of a man whose touch enchanted water with magical properties that could heal any ailment. He was a humble man, yet carried his compassion on strong shoulders and gentle hands. 

Not that Emma would know. She’d traveled all this way to this sickly bright land to call upon him, only to find his ship,  _ The Jewel of the Realm,  _ departing from the harbor. 

Though she was not the only one, it seemed. Another woman, aged and frail, had come to this very beach in search of the same person as Emma. She watched from the treeline as the woman hobbled on the uneven sand to the shore, and collapsed in a heap. 

“ _ Healer!”  _ she cried. The shout carried little weight, barely loud enough for Emma to hear above the whistling wind. It was a piteous sight, an even more upsetting one when she realized this sick, elderly woman had better chances of seeing her in Hades than this healer sailing far away. Emma watched as the woman dug her thin hands into the sand, whimpering under her breath. “Please come back, I’ve no other hope.” 

Emma felt her throat close. The woman’s pain was contagious as she wept. 

Pathetic, how easily the goddess of the underworld can mourn alongside the suffering. 

If only Emma’s magic worked in the land of the living, she could use it to appear on the decks of the  _ Jewel _ and shorten this process substantially. Instead, Emma would have to turn her ear to the gossip of where the Healer was headed next, and somehow find transport to such a place, but she’d walk there if it meant that she could have the slightest chance at saving her son and- 

Something caught her eye. Had the ship drawn...closer? Further from the horizon? 

Emma took a step forward and squinted. It had! Had the Healer  _ really  _ seen this poor woman and turned the ship around? The elderly woman seemed to notice it too, because her weeping ceased. 

It took only minutes for the rowboat to lower over the side of the ship and coast quicker than the wind over up to the shore. The small vessel contained only one passenger. From such a distance, Emma couldn’t make out his features, only than the strong lines of his cheeks and the simplicity of the clothes he wore. The Healer stepped from the rowboat into the shallow sea. She might have been seeing things, but Emma could have sworn the water around his ankles began to glisten with white light. 

He approached the woman, who stared up at him in amazement, and knelt before her. Emma watched as he whispered words she could not hear, brought his hands above the woman’s legs and above her chest, and helped her to her feet. It was as if the woman had never felt pain. There was renewed strength, a brighter hue to her skin, and a happy smile on her face. 

Emma intended to wait until the woman was gone to make herself known, but as the healer became the sole occupant of the beach, he turned in her direction toward the woods and called out, “Why don’t you come out, love?” 

Shocked, Emma stayed exactly where she was, heels digging into the dirt mixed sand. He playfully gestured for her to hurry up with a wave of his hand, and Emma carefully stepped from the shadows. 

There was a distinct pause in time the second she looked upon his face. Emma had seen millions of faces pass through her gates in the underworld - princesses whose beauty started wars, rogues whose greatest sin was the number of individuals they’d seduced with virile charm - but none compared to this man.  __ There were entire oceans in his eyes, a warmth in his smile. Emma could see why the gods would look favorably upon him to grant him such mystical abilities and why an entire world of people would crave his presence. 

He was  _ beautiful. _

“Are you the Healer of the Seas?” Emma asked, forcing her voice steady. 

“Aye, that I am. May I ask why such a beautiful woman dressed in fine clothes is here seeking me out?” 

“My son is ill and I fear the worst if something is not done soon. I’ve tried everything, yet nothing seems to ease his suffering. I was told to come find you.” Emma felt her hands shaking, so she gathered them at her waist, holding them as regally as possible. She fought back the urge to beg. Her pride in exchange for Henry’s restored health was an easy trade but…

“Do you know what ails him?” the man asked. 

“No.”

The man paused, examining her clothes and perhaps the desperation poorly hidden on her expression. 

“Will you help him?” Emma asked impatiently. 

“Well,  _ of course  _ I’ll help him,” the man replied easily. 

“Then what are you looking at me like that for?” 

“I’m merely trying to discern who you are.” 

“You could  _ ask. _ ”

“Alright then, who are you?” 

Well, of course he could ask, Emma realized, but that didn’t mean she wanted to answer. It’d be impossible to lie. Henry was still in her palace, and to get the healer there, she’d have to escort him to a land he’d certainly recognize upon a single gaze.  Yet, she wondered if he would still go if he knew who she was. 

Most probably not. 

“Emma Swan.” 

The man believed her, because it was not a lie. It was her name before she had gained her immortality. It the was person she was underneath the pitch black dress and crown made of bones and gold.

“What is  _ your  _ name?” she asked in return.

“Killian Jones,” he replied simply. “By all means, Lady Swan, take me to where your son is. I’m sure your husband will be nervous by the delay.” 

“I’ve no husband,” Emma said slowly.  _ Only castle servants,  _ she thought. Killian’s lips rose ever so slightly, and before he could say anything that would ruin her focus, she took off toward the rowboat, still lodged into the sand of the shore. “We have to sail there.” 

“I happen to be fairly good at sailing, so we’re in luck.” 

True to his word, he was an excellent sailor. He held a certain command over his ship, as if he were the keeper of an exotic animal who could only be controlled by his soothing voice and gentle command. Emma sat near the railing, feeling the speed of the ship as it sailed toward the dark cove which held the entrance of the underworld. 

They didn’t speak. Emma simply gave rigid commands, to which Killian complied. She was thankful he didn’t ask more about her son’s condition, and perhaps a little disappointed he did not want to know more about her. 

The cove was not far. Merely a few hours passed on the sea before Emma recognized the dome shape of the entrance to her land. Even if it had slipped her gaze, she felt the tug downwards in her chest, the dark tingle of magic in her fingertips. Through the whistling wind, there were faint whispers of the moans and calls of the dead. This visit to the land of the living had been a pleasant respite, but the signs of her dark power called her home. 

“That’s it there,” she called out, pointing along the shoreline. Killian tugged a looking glass from his inside pocket, pulled it with his teeth, and brought it to his eye. 

“Aye, I see it,” he said carefully. Emma watched as an uneasiness tightened the features of his face. “That’s where your son is?”

“I know how it looks, but I promise you, this is the way.” He was either too trusting or perhaps just stupid, because any doubt in his mind seemed to fade away, and in its stead was a resolve to get to the boy as soon as possible. 

Darkness flooded the inside of the cavern up until the second Emma lifted her hand and a bright scarlet light surrounded her fingers. 

“What are you-?” Killian began to ask, but before he could finish, the color exploded throughout the cove and the stone wall disintegrated into shards of rock. They broke off with loud cracks. Killian stumbled back, eyes wide as the solid cave wall fizzled into nothingness. Emma watched her companion shield his eyes with his arms as the light grew brighter and brighter until suddenly, there was nothing. 

She wondered what Killian must have thought when his vision cleared. They were clearly not in the cove anymore, and the healer seemed to deduce they weren’t anywhere near the sea because the stench in the air had changed from salt to ash. The clear teal skies were replaced by an infinite atmosphere of darkness, and a fiery tint set on the land like a hazy filter on their eyesight. 

Emma just wished he didn’t look so... _ revolted.   _ Elysium, compared to Asphodel or drearier locations in her kingdom, was actually beautiful. The souls who resided here appreciated the way it almost looked like home, with lifelike natural touches of trees and flowers, and carefully constructed buildings. None of the plant life was real, of course, because there was no true sunlight or rain, yet Emma had grown unconcerned with their actual authenticity. She couldn’t remember what real flowers even smelled like. 

And yet, here was Killian Jones, staring at the desolate land as if he expected it to lash out and swallow him whole. He parted his lips, as if to say something, and Emma prepared for his refusal. Then he turned to her and, with sad eyes, said, “I cannot save a boy who is already dead.” 

He knew exactly where they were. 

“Fortunately for both of us, my son is the only living person here.” 

“Besides you?”

Emma considered this. 

“I suppose that depends on who you ask.” 

 

**Seed II**

 

The look on her servants’ faces told her she had made it back just in time. They were paler than usual, which said something as most of her servants were spirits, and had a fear in their eye that was only assuaged in a minute amount by her arrival home. They gazed at Killian with strange expressions on their faces, some perhaps confused as to why she brought him, others shaken by the warmth of life in his cheeks. 

“How is he?” she asked them cautiously. 

“He grows more tired by the hour,” one replied miserably. “He’s grown distant and less responsive to our touch.” 

Emma clenched her hands into the skirt of her dress, and nodded in understanding. 

“This is Killian Jones. He is our guest for the time being to look after the prince. Anything he needs, you provide for him.” 

“Understood, Your Majesty,” replied the servants in unison. 

“ _ Your Majesty?”   _ Killian shot from clenched teeth. Emma merely turned her head and rose an eyebrow. 

“Did you think just anyone can open the door between Heaven and Hades?” 

“Well, I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening until now. Had I  _ known,  _ I certainly would have behaved more…” He trailed off, desperately searching for the right words, but not finding them. With a bowed head, he dropped to his knees. “Your Majesty. I apologize for my forwardness.” 

Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes. They didn’t have time for this! He could prostrate to his heart’s content as soon as Henry was healed. 

“You can make up for it by saving my son,” Emma stated sharply. The sheer fabric of her sleek dress twirled at her legs like black wings as she spun and headed toward Henry’s chambers. Killian clambered to his feet, stumbling off after her. 

“I shall certainly do what I’m able.” 

Emma didn’t know what Killian had been expecting to find, but the room seemed to certainly go beyond his expectations. Henry’s chambers were a bright, open space, much like the rest of the castle. The windows were cracked open to allow the chilly breeze to cool the room, but its effects were minimal. 

“Poor lad,” Killian muttered when his eyes landed on Henry. 

The boy laid on his wide bed, half-asleep with a forehead covered in sweat. The servants were doing everything they could to ease his discomfort, but no matter how many damp cloths they pressed to his forehead, his temperature only seemed to rise. It seemed in the time she’d been gone, his condition was just as she’d been told: he’d worsened. 

“Do you think you can help him?” 

Killian didn’t answer. A resolve washed over his eyes, the same one she saw on the beach, and he immediately set to work. 

“Hello there, lad,” Killian said warmly as he approached Henry’s bedside. The boy’s eyes cracked open a little wider, then narrowed he tried to focus on the man approaching him. “My name is Killian. I’m hoping I can help you feel better. I’ll need you to tell me where you hurt.” 

Henry nodded, a quiet cough escaped his lips. Killian didn’t need much other than the basin of water at Henry’s bedside, which he gently dropped his hands into, closed his eyes, then brought them up. 

To her surprise, when he brought his hands up from the pot, they glistened with silvery water that encompassed them as if he were wearing gloves. 

“Where does it hurt most, lad?” Killian asked. Henry’s eyes were glued to the glowing water. 

“My chest,” he murmured. Emma clenched her hands together to fight back an angry sob. Every part of him hurt, that much she knew. But if his chest hurt most, then there was certainly something wrong with his heart, and if his only means of life was crumbling… 

But Killian understood this. He brought his hands down over Henry’s chest and hovered above the damp skin. The water itself remained on Killian’s hands, but the glittery magic dripped off like droplets falling off of a melting icicle. They immediately seeped into Henry’s skin, and the more that fell, the more the color seemed to restore to his face. The sweat on his brow dried as the harsh wheezing breaths turned into steady, healthy inhales. 

Emma practically laughed in relief. 

“How’s that feel?” Killian asked, careful not to break his concentration. 

“Good,” Henry replied like a weight had been lifted him his shoulders. “Really good.” 

“I’m glad. Rest for the remainder of the evening. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, and even I cannot heal emotional exhaustion.” Killian pulled his hands away, and the water surrounding them dissipated into nothingness. Sweeping a hand across Henry’s forehead, he brushed the russet hair out of Henry’s eyes. Killian met Emma’s eyes, then stepped away to allow the mother privacy with her son. 

“I should like to speak with you,” Killian whispered as he passed. There was something serious in his eye buried underneath his polite demeanor and Emma barely noticed it. 

“Is this about payment, because  _ anything  _ you desire shall be granted to you.” Something flickered through Killian, as if he weren’t expecting any sort of payment. 

“Not quite, highness, there’s a matter that should be discussed sooner rather than later.” 

But Emma was too excited to see Henry. She merely nodded enthusiastically, and sped past him. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay? Are you in any more pain? Do you want me to call Killian back in? Does your head hurt?” Emma sat at the edge of the bed, a gentle hand cupping his cheek. Henry shoved her hand aside and sat up.   
“I’m great, mom.” Emma didn’t look convinced. “Seriously, I feel as good as new.”

“I’m so glad,” she sobbed, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Whatever illness plagued him had come on so quickly, Emma hadn’t had much time to fathom the possibility of losing him. Now that he was okay, reality seemed to crash over her. She had been a few hours from losing her son, the only person in this endless wasteland that gave a damn about her. There was no one in this world she loved as much as her son, no one who could ever soothe the agony that would tear through her if she were to lose him. 

As she looked at him now, the young man steadily blossoming from within the baby boy she gave birth to only twelve years ago, she noticed the changes in his features. The stronger jaw, the lengthening in his cheeks. His eyes were the same, though, from the specks of green amongst brown, to the kindness that softened his countenance.

If Henry had died, Emma wasn’t sure what she would have done. 

“Where’d you even find a guy like that?” Henry asked.  

“One of the souls mentioned his name on the way through and I managed to track him down,” Emma replied, brushing strands of his hair behind his ear. “I need to get him back home, though. He was pretty shaken up when I brought him here.” With one last kiss to the top of his head, Emma left Henry to rest. 

She found Killian sitting on the steps of the palace, looking out over Elysium. She stood a few paces behind him, giving him space. 

“Healer Jones, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for my son.” 

“Actually, Your Majesty, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.” His voice was even, but Emma could tell he was strangling against it in his throat. Her heart dropped into her stomach. What more could there possibly be?

“Speak your peace, healer.” To anyone else she would have sounded regal, perhaps a little intimidating, but she could hear her own trepidation. Killian probably could too. He rose to his feet, meeting Emma eye for eye; as an equal being honest, as a friend who dreaded bearing regretful news.

“Henry is still quite ill. I suspect that his symptoms will return by nightfall,” he said gently. 

Emma’s heart dropped to the floor. Almost instinctively, his hand reached out for hers, to comfort her, but she tugged herself back. 

“How can you tell?” 

“It’s difficult to explain, but when I heal people, I can feel the magic...sewing together the hurt or wounded parts of a person’s body. But with your son, there was some resistance. The simplest way to explain it is that I did everything in my power to make a seam, but it’s weak and frail. With time, it will break.” 

“Can nothing be done?”

“He would need my  _ constant  _ care. Treatments at least twice daily, and they’d have to continue for the rest of his life.” 

Emma blinked. 

“I’m sorry, am I understanding you’re simply going to  _ leave  _ him like this?” 

They were dangerous waters to cross. As down to earth as she seemed, Emma was still a goddess. Her powers probably extended beyond even his own, and had they not been created to facilitate death, she would have used them to heal her son herself. Upsetting the queen of Hades was something few people had done in earnest, and only one lived to tell the tale. No one that denied the queen lived to suffer the consequences, and they carried their punishments on their shoulders even into the afterlife. 

The unhappiness of mortal enemies brought death, but Queen Emma’s rage brought eternal misery. She didn’t want to threaten Killian with damnation, but she would if she had to. 

She would do anything for Henry. 

“I can’t stay, Emma. Not when there are people who need me, people who will die without me.” 

“ _ Henry  _ will die without you!” 

“I’m sorry, but he’s one boy in an entire world of suffering people. I’m stunned you’d have me live the rest of my life in the underworld only to prolong the inevitable. Do you know how many people I’d have to face down here, suffering souls who could’ve lived longer, happier lives with my help? People I would have ignored?” 

“You can’t possibly think you’ll be able to save every person in pain,” Emma spat, voice raising. 

“I can certainly endeavor to!” He was nearly yelling too now. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I need to leave. I was not given my powers to use on one single sickly boy.”

Emma’s chest heaved with rage, and she tried to ground her feet to the marble floor, pulling her gaze up to the ceiling to drain the tears pooling at her lashes. What would she do? Henry’s last chance at living was about to walk out of the underworld and leave him for dead. 

As angry as she was, she wouldn’t kill him. It was what Rumpelstiltskin would have done, and she would  _ never  _ stoop to his level. Besides, what if one day Killian changed his mind? She could bring him back. 

Or, maybe he didn’t have to leave after all.

“As you wish,” she surrendered. Killian relaxed, and smiled warm and grateful. “Perhaps we can come to one last compromise. Heal my son so that I am able to have one last day with him, and when you are finished, I shall give you some fruit and send you on your way.” 

Killian took her hands in his, and placed a thankful kiss on her knuckles. 

“It shall be done. Thank you, Emma.”

A sick feeling settled in Emma’s stomach as she watched him head back into the palace, no doubt to help Henry for what he assumed would be the last time. 

But Killian Jones was a foolish man if he believed she would allow him to leave so easily.

Later that evening, Emma watched from Henry’s bedside as Killian worked tirelessly while the boy rested. The healer worked relentlessly, large water basin at his side to aid in the flow of magic from within himself into the wounded parts of Henry’s flesh. In the hour Killian took to heal her son, Emma couldn’t help but latch onto the last speck of hope that appeared in his eyes. He just looked so  _ sure  _ of his abilities, like they might save Henry after all. But when it was over, and he met her gaze with a sorrowful regret, she knew she was nonsensical to believe in hope. 

“I truly am sorry, Your Majesty,” Killian said solemnly as he wiped the dampness from his hands. “If there were some other way…” 

Emma prepared the basket of fruits herself. It was humble basket - any trees that were planted in the underworld lasted only long enough for nearly half a harvest before succumbing to the disease the land seeped into living things. A few apples, a handkerchief full of berries, and two pomegranates.

“There isn’t much I can give you that would be of any worth to you, but it does not lessen the depth of my appreciation,” Emma said, handing the basket to Killian. He stood beneath her, gazing up from below her throne. The remnants of their argument had dissipated, replaced by an amiable atmosphere. 

“It’s rare a seafaring man can enjoy the delight of fresh fruit. Especially after such a day of hard work.”

“You must be starving!” Emma felt the darkness of her magic tingling at the back of her neck, tempting her. “Why don’t you try some and tell me how it tastes?” 

A grin broke out over his lips as he placed the basket on the ground. Eyes grazing hungrily over the vibrant fruit, he settled on one of the pomegranates. Opening it, Killian reached in, grabbed a finger full of seeds, and delicately put them into his mouth. A surprised smile lit his eyes and he nodded appreciatively.

And that was it.   

“I am so sorry, Killian Jones,” Emma said quietly. 

He seemed to feel it as soon as she said it. His hand reached up to his mouth, then grabbed at his chest. 

“What have you done?” he murmured. Faint traces of the fruit’s magic spread through his veins, black in color and visible through the paleness of his skin. “ _ What have you done?!”  _

“You have eaten six seeds of the fruit of Hades. Each seed represents a single month that your body and soul will be tied to the land. For six months, you will be forced to remain here in my kingdom.” 

Emma had witnessed unparalleled torment as souls passed through her kingdom on their journeys to somewhere deeper and hotter. There was blood, and screaming, and tears, and  _ begging.  _ But the man before her was not tormented. He did not scream, or cry, or beg. 

He was angry. Angry at her and angry at himself. 

Killian Jones was a foolish man, indeed. 

 

**Seed III**

 

It was hard to remember himself. 

After three months spent in the Underworld, Killian had grown accustomed to the way it felt to long after sunlight only to be greeted by an unsatisfying twilight. At first, he simmered his days away in anger and disappointment, but now there was only a melancholic acceptance. Eventually, his skin had lost its tan color, and among the pale inhabitants of the underworld, he no longer looked like an outsider. 

Not that he had much company. He’d met a few acquaintances, always introducing himself as Killian Jones, Healer of the Sea. Yesterday, though, something strange happened. 

“You don’t look like the sort to be down here,” an elderly spirit commented as they passed by each other in the corridor. “Who are you?” 

“Killian Jones,” he replied. “Healer of the Prince.” 

It was the first time he had forgotten the sea, and forgotten his life’s work. In that particular moment, he only knew himself as the servant of the prince and no one else. 

He thought of the incident as he dipped his hands into the usual ornate, gold basin at Henry’s bedside. He could feel the prince’s eyes on the back of his neck, watching as he took shallow, labored breaths. 

“You look upset, Killian,” Henry said. Killian kept his eyes on his hands, only taking a second to shoot a forced smile at his patient. 

“I’m merely wandering in my own thoughts, Your Highness. Your treatments are coming along quite nicely. You’ve no need to worry.”

Henry pushed onto his elbows, and leaned against the headboard. The lad had grown since Killian arrived here, but the consequences of sickness were visible on his face, aging him beyond his years. 

“I’m not worried about  _ me.  _ I’m worried about  _ you _ .” 

Killian looked at Henry, sweat damp hair pushed back on his forehead. The boy’s health cycled endlessly between satisfactory and barely manageable, a constant push and pull of pain and relief, yet he still considered Killian’s wellbeing and happiness. 

Running a cool cloth alongside Henry’s cheeks, Killian murmured, “You shouldn’t worry about me, Henry. I’m not here because I have to be. I’m here because I want to be.” 

“I know that isn’t true,” Henry argued, pushing aside the cloth and moving up to his elbows. “My mother told me about the pomegranates.” 

It wasn’t often Killian thought of the Queen anymore. She was the picture of beauty and betrayal, and allowing the image of her face to sneak into his thoughts only left him bitter. But he would serve his sentence, and then leave. After all, only certain fruits of the underworld contained the powers to tie him to the land. Once his six months had ended, he would leave the Underworld for good. 

But because Killian only felt disdain toward the queen did not mean it was the same for the prince. The young lad was brighter than most children his age, with a hunger to learn and hear stories about far-off places. He’d developed a talent during his time of bedrest of writing and drawing, creating expansive volumes of stories and matching illustrations. Sometimes while Killian worked through Henry’s ailments, the boy would read some tales aloud. For the first time, Killian wondered if perhaps Henry worked so tirelessly to give him a story as a way to compensate him for his time. 

“Lad, there is one thing I want you to know,” Killian began, wiping his hands clean of his healing water and sitting down at the edge of the bed. “Your mother is not forcing me to be here or to be your healer. I won’t pretend I have full freedom to leave this realm, but I have freedom to roam this realm how I choose. And I choose to be here, by your side, easing your pain.” 

“Why would you help me after what my mom did to you?” 

“A long time ago, I had people I would’ve done terrible things for, people I loved equally as much as your mother loves you. She isn’t a bad person, Henry, and neither are you. I’m here because I believe you’re a lad who deserves a future, and that your mother, regardless of the things she’s done to me, is still good at heart.”

“I know my mother is good,” Henry insisted. “I think you’ll see it too. You just have to give her a chance.”

When Henry smiled at something behind Killian’s shoulder, the healer spun around to see Queen Emma watching them. There was something surprisingly vulnerable about the way she stood in the doorframe, as if she was afraid that crossing the threshold would turn her to ash. Her regal countenance was gone, along with her elaborate head wreath and dark gown. In that moment, she was a simple woman in a silk red dress, worried about the health of her son. 

She was  _ beautiful.  _  Even more beautiful than the first time he’d seen her, and every time after that. This time she was  _ real. _

“Your Majesty,” Killian greeted carefully. He rose from the bed and gave a respectful bow of his head. The queen blinked at that, uncomfortable at the sign of respect, almost as if she would’ve preferred he spit in her direction instead. 

“Healer Jones, I was wondering if you might join me for dinner.” 

Killian felt like a stunned animal caught petrified in the sights of a skilled bowman. His nerves vibrated as he considered his next actions. He probably shouldn’t trust her. After all, the queen giving him food was the way he had ended up captured here in the first place.

The queen folded her hands as she waited for him to answer, eyeing him with careful hope. It was the first time in months that Killian half-believed her sincerity. If Henry could trust her, perhaps she deserved a second chance. Killian swallowed back his reluctance and nodded. 

“I will dine with you,” he seceded. A smile illuminated her face, the same one that caused his chest to clench when he agreed to heal her son. It was a small, fragile thing, but it was genuine. 

“Good. A meal is already prepared, but it’s too much for just me.” 

Killian was about to follow behind the queen as she started toward the dining room, but  before he could set into motion, Henry grabbed the hem of his shirt. 

“Remember what I told you about giving my mom a second chance,” he reminded, and shoved Killian toward the direction of the door. 

During his time in the Underworld, Killian had barely found the desire to roam the rest of the palace. He knew the way from his room to Henry’s, as well the way from the throneroom to the main entrance. Beyond that, there was an entire castle that remained undiscovered to him. These corridors of pearl and obsidian marble were foreign to him. Each wall was lined with portraits of old half decaying flowers and other still-life works that looked ghastly in the dark setting. The only thing that wasn’t stale and decrepit was the queen’s perfume - a pleasant rose scent drifted from her loose blonde hair. It was intoxicating because it was the first thing he smelled in forever that didn’t reek of decay. 

The dining room was much like Henry’s chambers, lit bright with candles and comfortably extravagant. Killian followed the queen to her seat, where he pulled out the chair and waited until she sat. Her eyes fluttered when she realized what he was doing, but allowed him to demonstrate his earthly manners. 

“You’ll be pleased to find that there is no fruit course in this meal,” Emma assured. “In fact, it’s a rather simple meal.” 

Killian let out a noise that was the midpoint between a cough and an awkward snicker. 

“Are you laughing?” she asked, unbelieving smile on her face. 

“My apologies, Majesty. I can see you’ve gone to great lengths to ensure my comfort,” he said, gesturing down at his plate of ham and potatoes, both seedless foods. “But I am a fan of well-crafted irony. I did not mean to make a joke of your efforts.” 

“That’s quite alright. Allowing you to laugh at me is the least I could grant you,” she said. Killian mirrored her movements as she pulled the napkin from beside her plate and placed it in her lap. “Besides, that is the first smile I’ve seen on you in months.” 

“I appear to be settling in - acclimating, if you will.” Killian was halfway through cutting into a slice of ham when he paused. “May I ask why you’ve requested my presence for dinner?” 

The queen shifted in her seat, suddenly interested in avoiding his gaze by examining the details of her potatoes. 

“Killian, you must think me a monster, trapping you down here like this. But I don’t want to make your time down in this land more painful for you than it already is. That begins with an apology from me.” She moved her stare from her plate to his gaze. “It was horrible of me to selfishly trick you into remaining this land. For that, I hope you can accept my deepest apologies. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Killian watched her as she pressed her lips together, and peered down into her wine glass, eyes glossy. 

“You’re no monster. Surely I’d be the monster for not accepting a woman’s honest apology.” The queen softened, as if he had lifted part of the weight of the sky off of her shoulders. Killian looked at her closely, the scarlet color of her lips, the rosy hue of her cheeks, the burden of history in her eyes. No matter how much he tried, he could tear his gaze away. 

“In truth, I had begun to worry. Henry mentioned you seemed to be losing your joy and that you had no friends. As someone with firsthand experience, I know how lonely this place can be without the comfort of loved ones. I thought since I was the one to strip you of your freedom, I should at least endeavor to help you regain some of your spirit.” 

“I appreciate that, Highness, but I’m not lonely. You have already provided with everything you’re able.” 

A sad look washed over Emma’s face. She looked down at her half-eaten meal, then rose to her feet. Killian felt sweat gathering in his palms as she crossed the distance and sat in the chair next to his at the other head of the long table. Up close, Killian could make out of the details of her appearance, imperfections of a real woman that made her even more alluring. Small freckles. A scar under her jaw. Tears in her eyes. 

“I’d like to tell you how I ended up here,” she confessed. Killian’s brows furrowed.

“You weren’t always the goddess of the Underworld?” he asked carefully. She shook her head, a frailness in her stature. 

“I wasn’t lying when I told you my name is Emma Swan. I grew up on my father’s sheep farm and helped support him and my mother with my talent of finding people. The authorities of the law would seek my help to capture men who escaped their prison sentences, and it was something I could perform without fail.” Killian’s mind drifted off to the image of what Emma might have looked like in farmers’ clothes, no extravagant dress, no crown of gold, just the essence of a simple woman. With her hands clenched around each other, she continued. 

“A woman came to me one day saying she had briefly fallen for the God of Hades and given birth to his son. That son had been ripped from her by her lover, and she had spent her life trying to find him. His name was Baelfire, and this man was Henry’s father.”

“I take it you found him?” Killian asked, urging her to continue. He reached out and took her shaking hands in his. The warmth of his fingers met her chilled skin with a stark contrast, like putting your hands in front of a fire after a long journey through a tempest. 

“I did. He wasn’t far from where his mother lived, actually. Just a simple guy who spent his days researching how to free his father from the curse of dark magic. Out of all King Rumpelstiltskin’s children, I think Bae was the only one who wanted a relationship with his father. It was strange, in the end, how the three of them spent their lives searching for one another when they were right under each other’s noses. I got along with Bae because we understood each other, and it really seemed like he loved me.” Emma frowned, gaze drifting up to the portrait of Henry on the wall. “And maybe he did for a while.” 

“But he betrayed you,” Killian realized. Emma licked her lips. 

“He discovered shortly after meeting me the only way to save his father was to force King Rumple to rid himself of the magic and find another body to put it in. He found the only thing that could control a god, a dagger that was designed by Zeus to control and contain the dark magic of the ruler of the Underworld. With this dagger, he forced his father to remove all the magic from himself and send it into me.”

Emma’s face was pale as she relived the memory. Killian couldn’t imagine the agony it must have been to turn human into immortal, light and good into dark and tainted. He’d felt the sting of dark magic under his own fingers when healing those who had been cursed, but to act as the vessel, the main support for it - surely it weighed on a person and tested their limits. 

“What happened then?” he asked in a quiet voice, not sure he wanted to hear how the story ended. 

“I became the ruler of this realm, an eighteen-year-old farm girl who feared commitment. I destroyed the dagger, and shortly after, I discovered I was pregnant. That was over a decade ago. Baelfire has since died. One of his father’s enemies caught up to them both.” Emma’s eyes glazed over gray at the thought of it. “Milah was inconsolable. They wander the Fields of Asphodel, still.” 

Once her tale was finished, a silence settled over the room. Their meals were cold, but their hands were still tightly pressed together. 

“I don’t tell you this to make you pity me.” Her promise cut into the silence. “I tell you this so that you might trust me more.” 

“It takes a lot of courage to open up doors that contain an ugly past,” Killian replied gently. “I haven’t opened my own in...well, ever.” 

“You don’t have to. You can leave the past locked away if you want.” 

Killian shook his head, tightening his grip on her hands. He needed something to ground him in the moment. He wanted to feel something tangible to remember this transition from bitterness to kindness. 

“I grew up similar to Baelfire. My father fell in love with the sea goddess, Alaese, who was unable to keep her demigod children under the ocean with her. She left me with my father, but he was a sailor who didn’t like to be tied down. I was too much responsibility for him, and so one morning I woke up and found myself left alone in a rowboat adrift at sea.” 

Emma’s brow furrowed as if an icy rage was going through her veins. She probably couldn’t imagine abandoning Henry, much less leaving him in the middle of the ocean to die. 

“But my mother always watched over me. She heard me crying and came to me. I didn’t have to explain what happened: she already knew. I can still remember very clearly how comforting her touch was on my forehead as she gave me my healing powers. It was this rush of warmth, the transfer of magic from her into me.” Killian looked up at her. “It seems we are more alike than we thought.” 

“Two regular mortals with fates they didn’t ask for,” Emma agreed. “I don’t think I’d trade it for anything, though. It gave me Henry. I think that’s why I only sent Baelfire to Asphodel rather than a land of eternal torment. Henry makes me softer.”

Killian nodded with a bittersweet smile. Henry was certainly a special boy. This realm was a brighter place with him in it. 

“I understand how you feel. If my father hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t have met my brother,” he added.

“You have a brother?” 

“I have many siblings, being the son of a goddess. But Liam was different. He took me in, fed me, and raised me. He was everything my father wasn’t up until the day he tried to rescue a crewmate during a storm and drowned. I thought the grief would bury me alive. The only thing that saved me was knowing there were people who would die without my healing, so then I became ‘Killian Jones: Healer of the Sea.’”

“That’s incredibly admirable,” Emma said softly. Killian’s eyes fell down to his lap as an unfamiliar tug spurred all his nerves to life. The featherlight tingle that came with recognition speckled down his arms and the back of his neck. It had been years since he’d told anyone the entire story. During most of his healing visits, he was not the subject of interest, and he was all right with that. No one ever asked questions about where his powers came from, no one truly cared about him enough to linger around to find out. For someone to listen to his tale and find  _ value  _ in his strength…

A blush rose on his cheeks. 

“I’ve never been praised by royalty before,” he admitted. 

“I’m not really royalty. I’m just Emma.”

Killian rose his eyes and, for the briefest of moments, he forgot this woman held the power of afterlife judgment. Sitting beside him, hair down, gaze honest, she was simply a woman who wanted a friend. 

He supposed maybe he needed one too. 

They continued their meal, not minding in the slightest when the sliced ham was cold to the touch and the melted butter on the potatoes had turned solid. Emma veered the conversation away from herself, asking questions about Killian’s time at sea and the people he’d met. It was as if she could not get enough of hearing the happy endings of those who had been hopeless. 

When both of their plates were bare, Killian remembered his responsibilities. Surely Emma had duties of her own. He could not spend the entire night sitting beside her, telling stories so he might admire that brilliant smile of hers a little longer. He offered an apologetic smile as he said, “It is getting fairly late. I should go and give Henry his second treatment and then retire for the evening.” 

Emma was careful to keep her expression steady. He could tell by the way it did not twinge with reaction at his words, but the light in her olive eyes seemed to dull. 

“Perhaps we could continue tomorrow,” Killian offered, straightening in his chair as he realized he was being a bit forward. “Or, that is, whenever is convenient for you. If you’d rather take your meals by yourself - ” 

“I would love to continue tomorrow,” Emma interrupted. Clenching his jaw to keep from grinning, Killian attempted to gather back the rising panic and excitement at the thought of seeing Emma tomorrow. 

He followed her to the entrance between the dining room and the corridor, his hand grazing hers as her arms swung at her side. All he’d have to do is reach out and take her palm in his and promise he would try to find the end of her despair for her, but it was a fool’s urge. 

But then she was standing there, looking up at him as if he was the thing that could shed light on his shrouded realm, and it became impossible to remember himself. The tug toward her was unavoidable, and he was overcome with the urge to lean down and see if she’d close the distance. 

Instead, he brought her knuckles to his lips and said, “Goodnight, Emma.” When she smiled, Killian realized he was in danger of something he had never once considered before that moment. Could he even speak its name in this Underworld? 

As he headed off to Henry’s chambers, he clenched his fists. 

He wasn’t going to find out. 

 

**Seed IV**

 

Each day proceeding, Emma dedicated her free time in acquainting Killian with the parts of the land which he had not ventured into before. Wherever she led, he followed, bit by bit looking  more enticed with the intricacies of the land. When he was feeling particularly good, sometimes Henry would accompany them, but for the majority of the time, it was simply her and Killian. 

Being with Killian was easy. It felt like breathing air that smelled crisp and feeling it chill her tired lungs. He was genuine in the ways she’d never known a person to be, like the way he found beauty in such things that should feel lifeless. In the twilight sun, he’d knelt beside the unnatural flowers of the garden, and he brought a blossom to his nose.

“I have traveled many places - across realms, through land, and over sea - and I have never seen flowers more lovely,” he murmured. As if keening to the sound of his tender voice, the flower bent toward him in the breeze.

“It might be lovelier if it were real,” Emma replied. She knelt beside him, taking the flower between her fingers and feeling the smoothness of the petals. How long had it been since she’d seen  _ real  _ flowers and  _ real  _ sunlight? Killian merely smiled. Leaning across her, Killian dipped his hand into the pond nearby and closed his eyes with the same concentration he always had when he performed magic. Like rain clouds, he hovered his hands over the small collection of blossoms. Emma stared, mesmerized, as magic dripped from his fingertips and onto the silky petals. 

Immediately, the flowers straightened up. Bright color flooded into them from the roots, shades of vibrant magenta, ultramarine blues, and sunshine yellow. Each bloom was restored to what it once was, what it was always meant to be. Emma wondered if she listened close enough, if she would be able to hear them singing happily. 

“All the flowers are real. Sometimes they have to be reminded,” Killian said quietly. He was so close, she could feel his breath teasing her lips. Emma noticed the sea color of his eyes was equal in vibrant color with the gardens that he saved. Her mind begged her to tear away, but she was drawn to him, the same way she was the first night they had dinner. 

“All of them?” she muttered helplessly. 

“Indeed,” he replied, plucking a buttercup from the ground and sticking it behind her ear. Warmth flooded through her from the roots of her hair down to her stomach as his fingers brushed her cheek. “Especially the most beautiful ones.” 

Instinctively, Emma reached down and held her wrist, covering her tattoo. 

“What’s that?” Killian asked, nudging her fingers out of the way. Emma’s hand shot back. There was no doubt in her mind her secrets would be safe with him, but this one was so horrible. The ink embedded in her skin was a reminder she’d never be able to escape the sinister, evil temptation of the dark magic. It was her fate, her curse.

Rising to her feet, Emma turned away. She’d already subjected him to enough of her darkness. He was the one thing in this entire land that could gift life to even wilting flowers. The skirts of her dress dragged behind her as she moved to sit on a nearby bench. Killian’s concerned eyes followed her. 

“Whatever it is, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, rising from the ground. Emma shook her head. 

“I am Queen of Hades. I have many things to be ashamed of.” The grip on her wrist tightened. Sinister magic pulsed beneath her grasp, the root of her power.

“I’ve met many people, Emma, and I’ve never met a single person who didn’t have things to be ashamed of,” he began. Sitting down in the free space beside her, he turned his face to the fire-colored sun. “But every one of them had things to be proud of, too. Even you and I.” 

Taking a deep breath, Emma uncovered her hand from her wrist. She held it out to him so he might see it, and rested it upon her lap. Her finger traced the outline of the image as she spoke. 

“This ink on my skin is the brand of the dark magic Baelfire put within me. It would typically appear physically as the dagger, but after I destroyed the dagger, this tattoo appeared on my skin.” 

“That’s…”

“Heinous, I know,” Emma spat bitterly. 

“Cruel,” Killian amended. “To take something you love so greatly, to make it the image of the thing that traps you, to place it somewhere to be constantly reminded...It’s all so cruel.” 

“It’s what I deserve.” Emma shot to her feet and raced away, arms crossed around her chest. She halted before the edge of the pond, staring at her own reflection in the rippling water. “After what I’ve done to you, after the way I’ve treated others, this is suitable punishment.” 

She watched as Killian’s reflection appeared beside hers. He brushed her hair to the side and placed his hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was the warmth in his hand, or the light magic humming beneath his skin, but there was something about his touch that soothed her worries. This simple man could display the strength of a hundred years of wisdom, yet he was as old as she. She wondered if pain could do that for a person. It was doubtful, for if that were the case, surely she herself would be wiser and stronger. Yet here she was, sharing courage with the man whose life she nearly ruined. 

Perhaps strength was doing the right thing and not taking the easy way out. 

“Killian…” Emma started, turning to him. He kept his hand on her, running his gentle touch up and down her arm, as if encouraging her to speak her piece. “I can apologize a thousand times for what I did to you, but the only way it’ll make any difference is with my actions. I’ve been thinking and, I’ve decided that as soon as the land unties you from its grasp, I will set you free. I won’t force you to stay here any longer. In the meantime, I will search for another cure for Henry and I won’t lose hope. I want to do this the right way.”

She watched as his breathing slowed, such a human behavior that reminded her of the fragility of man. 

“Emma, it’s alright,” he said. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, and he smiled as if a weight were about to be lifted off of his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking too. The more I talk with your boy, the more I grow to believe that he’s destined for greater, richer things than laying bedridden. Not many people are as compassionate and kind as he is.” 

“But you are,” Emma added in a quiet voice. Her chest felt tight as her words rang in her head. The thought of this great man made her dizzy with guilt and desire all at once. Was it wrong to wish that Killian would one day give her all the kindness the rest of the world had taken from her? If it was, she was content watching him talk of her son with such pride for as long as she could. 

“Sometimes I’m not so sure, though I’m glad you think so,” he replied. A hopeful light ignited in his eyes as his lips grew into an inspiring smile. “But Henry is special. I can’t help but wonder if I was  _ meant  _ to come down here and help save him. Like maybe I’m contributing to something far more important than what meets the eye.”

“What are you saying?” Emma asked carefully.

“I’m saying that once my six months is complete,  I’m going to stay here and help care for Henry until another cure can be found.”  

“But what if one doesn’t exist? What will you do then?” 

“That won’t happen,” Killian assured. “I know he’s supposed to have a future. There’s a cure out there somewhere for him.” 

Emma wished she had as much hope as he did. He sounded so convinced there was truth to his own words, but how could a person stay so optimistic from a simple feeling? It was settled, for he spoke his words like a reverent vow, and she was powerless to do anything but trust him. After all, if there was anyone she was willing to bet on, it was Henry and Killian. 

Maybe he was right. Maybe all she needed was a little faith. 

After that day, Killian roamed the grounds with more lightness in his step. The palace seemed brighter because of it, as if its spirit sensed the presence of hope and could not help but enliven at the feeling. The marbled walls no longer felt like they were closing in on her as she walked through the corridors, and the air was more pleasant in her lungs. There was no more ash, only warm blue eyes and the harmony of his laughter. 

When Henry was feeling well, Killian would often bring him on walks around the castle. The young prince was set on showing his healer all his secret places, hidden passageways that led to nowheres that turned to somewheres. One particular night, Emma found them stowed away in the observatory. She crept into the doorway in time to see Killian draping a blanket around Henry’s shoulders while the prince squinted his eye into a massive telescope. 

“Are the stars you see here the same ones as the Land of the Living?” Killian asked. 

“Maybe. I like to think the gods put the stars here so the wandering souls would have something to look up to. This realm is actually quite kind compared to what people think, especially with my mom as its ruler.”

“This realm is definitely a kinder place with your mother ruling it. Perhaps the stars followed her here from her home to comfort her.”

Henry leaned his arms on the telescope and peered up at the sky. 

“I wish I could be as hopeful as you, Killian.” 

Emma’s hand clenched at the door frame as Killian placed a firm hand on her son’s shoulder and said to him, “Lad, you don’t need to be anything but yourself.” 

Biting back the urge to miserable scoff, Emma turned away. How could Henry fulfill his total potential when his condition was only worsening? Each day that passed was another day Henry spent stuck in the endless cycle of his sickness. His strength was weaker, and some days it was all he could do to make it down the staircase to dinner. Emma wondered if this torture of watching her son suffer agony day in and day out could have been avoided by not tampering with fate. After all, with each search for answers she embarked on, she always came up empty handed. 

Some days she wished she was as hopeful as Killian, too. 

But her options had dried out. What else could she do? Even her best scholars could not find an answer in their vast research. As she stood on her balcony several days later, looking over her kingdom, Emma realized she’d give up the power, the immortality, if it meant she could live a normal life with her son. Each inky black river, each dewey desolate field, each rose-colored afternoon sky, she’d damn it all to hell if it would save Henry. 

“Emma,” a familiar voice called out. She nearly sunk down at the sound of Killian’s voice. It seemed even the things that provided the greatest comfort could cause pain in equal measure. “I was wondering if I could speak with you.” 

“Perhaps later,” she murmured. 

“Love, this really isn’t something that should wait.” An ache settled over her, overwhelming and powerful. It raged flush against her nerves so that it hurt to breathe. Her mind roared mournful white noise, the sound of the Underworld all blended into a high pitched cacophony trapped in her head. 

She needed to force it out somehow. Before she knew what she was doing, a sickly dark ball of magic formed in her palm. It exploded from her hand in his direction the same moment she screamed,  _ “I said no! _ ” 

Killian dodged the blast in the last possible second, staring at her with wide eyes. It was the first time he’d seen her truly use her magic before, the first time he’d seen the sinister power she held within her being. Emma’s hand shook as she realized what she’d done, before she sunk to the ground. Her face crumpled as she clutched her hands to her chest, begging the magic to contain itself. 

He’d surely leave her and Henry now. 

There were comforting hands brushing back the hairs that stuck to her cheeks and a pair of lips pressed against her forehead. Emma leaned forward, allowing her head to fall flush against his chest. His tender touch grazed over strands of her hair, as if coaxing out all the hopelessness built up in her chest. 

“I hate this life,” Emma admitted. “I’ve just realized, but I’ve known all along. The sickness taking my son’s life isn’t a disease after all. It’s this land. It drains the vitality from all the living things. The trees, the flowers, my son…” She looked up at his face and ran her fingers along the sag in his cheeks. “And you too, Killian. This land is stealing away your life.” 

Killian said nothing, only looked down with furrowed brows and shook his head. 

“That’s not true,” he replied. “I’m fine.” 

“It’s starting to show on your face. Living mortals can’t live in the world of the dead.”

“If this land is indeed trying its best to strip away my soul, it will fail.” Killian wove their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. “And so too must you battle the urge to let it drain you of your spirit. It’s agony for me to watch you endure this life. No matter what anyone says, you’re just as human as I.” 

Emma gave a sad laugh. “How I wish that were true. I’d give anything to feel like a human woman again, but there’s no going back to my old life.” 

Killian’s eyes glimmered with the acceptance of a challenge, but it was warm and soft. It was the same expression he wore just before deciding to heal the wilted flowers, a resolution built of tenderness. Emma felt the longing that had been settled in her stomach beginning to spread, his captivating gaze caused the skin on her arms to tingle. The feeling only intensified as Killian ran his hands up from her wrist to her shoulders where he brushed back some of her hair. Emma let out a soft sigh as he caressed the underside of her chin and cheeks. 

“To me, you will always be a woman,” he breathed, brushing his lips against her collarbone. “Gentle and loving,” he continued, moving up her neck. Eyes falling shut, Emma turned her head to allow him better access. “Yet strong and fearless.” His lips nipped at the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. “You are the most outstanding, genuine woman I know.” 

Emma bit the inside of her cheek to fight back the tears, reveling the extraordinary feeling of this man’s affection. 

“If you’re doing this just because you pity me -” 

She couldn’t finish because suddenly he was kissing her. His lips melted against hers, moving with delicate ease and searing heat. Powerless to do anything but surrender to her desire, Emma’s intoxication grew insistent for more. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, his palms pressed her closer to his lean chest. Their kiss was like the reverent meeting of the afternoon sun and the evening stars - inevitable, breathtaking, and harmonious.

He didn’t stray far when they broke apart, the distance between their lips short enough that he could feel her breath on his cheeks. They stayed like, dazed and happy, breathing in the incandescent sparks of uncharted love. Then, Killian ran his thumb over the apples of her cheeks and whispered against her skin in a husky voice, “Will you allow me to make love to you?” 

A pleasant shock ran down Emma’s spine and she all but dissolved into nothingness. Nuzzling her nose against the hair on his jaw, she murmured, “Please, Killian.” He must’ve felt the shock too, because he shuddered in her arms and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. 

It was much like the first day they met when Emma led him into her chambers. He followed the same way he had once done, awestruck and captivated by the intricacies of her poise and the radiance of her strength. As she guided him to her bed, Killian chased after her kiss, teeth lightly nibbling at her lower lip, tongue smoothing over the skin to soothe the erotic marks.

Emma couldn’t remember feeling so safe - both from the darkness of the outside world and the untapped, sinister potential of her power. All the evil temptations and whispers in her head had disappeared. As her calves hit the end the edge of her bed, Emma pressed up against Killian’s chest and let him lower her onto the soft sheets. A magenta hot desire spread throughout her stomach, growing and spreading as Killian peeled his white cotton shirt from over his head. She couldn’t help from reaching out to touch his chest, and his skin burned under her fingers. 

He undressed her in the unlit room, the glow of the moon providing enough light that he was still able to find the freckles on her skin and close his mouth around each constellation of the stippled marks. Emma swore she could feel the magic restrained in his touch, sparks flying loose when his fingers grazed over the swell of her breast and the indentation of her hip bone. She scratched his scalp as his mouth closed over her breast, and she arched into him. Surrendering to her warmth, Killian let his entire weight fall on top of her. Their kisses slowed, as if taking a pause to melt into the wonderful feeling of skin against skin. 

That night, Queen Emma of Hades felt the black of her veins run red, and the dull light in her eyes mirror the stars. Her forehead bore hot beads of sweat instead of a cool metal crown, and the salty perspiration joined the tears on her cheeks as she finally remembered what it felt like to be human. 

They laid together in the peace of the hazy blue night, arms wrapped around each other. Emma kissed his chest before snuggling her cheek against the soft hair on his breast. 

“I feel like myself again,” she said quietly. “I feel like the self that loved sunshine on my cheeks and flowers in my windows. The self that knew real strength. The self that wasn’t afraid to fall in love.” 

Killian’s breath hitched, but she could feel him smile against her hair. In an unsteady voice he answered, “Then I won’t be afraid of love, either.”

 

**Seed V**

 

In the following weeks, Emma realized two things. The first came to her when she realized she would never love the taste of someone’s lips as much as she did Killian’s. There were brief dalliances in empty corridors where she would find herself swept into his arms, back pressed against one of the ivory columns with his lips pressed against hers. As soon as it happened, it’d be over, and he would leave her standing on wobbly knees, unable to catch her breath. Throughout her day, his laughter would ring in her ears as clearly as if he were standing beside her. He made living in this world easier by helping her have all the things this world wouldn’t grant her - flowers, light, affection. It was one night in the midst of their lovemaking that she realized she was in love with him. 

Her second realization was much simpler, yet much crueler. The two people she loved most in the world were the people she could never have - the people she’d have to give up. 

She just didn’t realize she’d have to do it so soon. 

It was the day Killian’s six months were complete. He came before her throne, heartbroken expression tightening his brows. Instead of opening his arms for an embrace like he normally did when he saw her, he lowered to one knee and said, “Your Majesty, he doesn’t have much time left.”  

Emma shot to her feet, grabbing the armrest of her throne to keep from crumbling. 

“What are you saying, Killian?” 

He took a deep breath and lowered his head. 

“The treatments aren’t working. His life is draining more rapid than before. I’ve tried everything, used every ounce of magic in me, but my powers are barely working. The magic his body does absorb disintegrates almost immediately. I truly thought I would be able to lengthen his life, but...” His voice cracked and he clenched his fist. “I’ve failed you.”

It was the heaviest pain Emma had ever felt. It was drowning in a sea of flames, breathing nothing but smoke and heat. It was the weight decades of loneliness dropped from hundreds of feet above to crash onto her shoulders. It was the absence of peace, the silence of death, and the finality of fate catching up to her. 

If Henry died, Emma might die along with him. She peered up from her damp lashes and looked at Killian. His own jawline was gaunt with sickness, and the color had long since left his face. If his magic was exhausted, what did that mean for him? For his own life? 

She knew what had to be done.  

“Killian, listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you,” she muttered. “Take Henry and leave the Underworld.”

He shot to his feet and took a few steps forward. “ _ Leave?  _ I don’t understand.” 

“It’s like I told you! This realm is draining your life, and now that your tie to the land is broken, you’re able to leave. Flee from this place with my son for the sake of both of your lives.” 

Killian blinked in disbelief, but Emma could soon see the understanding settling in his eyes. His eyes wandered around, attempting to articulate the right words, but they never came. Closing the distance between them, Emma took his cheeks in her hands and spoke slowly. 

“Save my son,” she said firmly. “You love each other enough that you’ll forget about me. You can convince him to forgive me for giving him up and tell him I meant to give him his best chance.”

“Emma, I-” 

“Your Majesty!” a servant called out, bursting into the room. “The prince’s heartbeat is barely traceable. What should we do?” 

Emma and Killian’s panicked faces turned to one another at an alarming rate. His hands found her cheeks and his eyes welled up with tears. He gazed down at her as if he were admiring the one thing that brought comfort to his soul, fingers running along her cheeks. The words he spoke next were enough to make it all ache a little bit more. 

“I love you.” 

Then he was lifting his hands away, the warmth an immediate loss against her skin. As he walked away, it felt like he was taking away all the magic he seeped into the place along with him. The flowers wilted, the lights dulled, and the peaceful silence that had settled over the palace was replaced by the echoing, mournful bellows of the Lost Souls. His absence faded and withered everything away until there was nothing but hazy dark light and cold tears down her cheeks. 

When she lifted her head, he was gone.

 

**The Turn of the Seasons**

 

The sunlight felt like balm on a burning wound when it dripped onto Killian’s cheeks. He turned his chin up to stare at it, the brightness too much for his eyes after having lived six months in dimness. Even as the Land of the Living breathed life into his hallowed cheeks and pale skin, Killian was more concerned about someone else. 

“Henry!” he called, shifting across the rowboat until he could cradle Henry’s body in his arms. Gazing down at the boy’s closed eyes, Killian held Henry against his chest and prayed this wasn’t all for nothing. “Henry, please wake up. Come on, lad, I know you can do it. Just open your eyes.” 

The gods must have listening, because seconds later, Henry’s lashes fluttered and suddenly he was looking up at his healer with new life in his expression. 

“Killian? Where are we?” Killian laughed in relief, tugging the boy into a tight embrace. He shook his head, and ran his hand down Henry’s shaggy hair. 

“Nevermind that now. There’s something I want to check first.” 

Dipping his hand over the rowboat and into the freshwater of the river, Killian felt the familiar tingle of magic surge through his fingers - his powers completely restored. He hovered his fingers over Henry’s chest, but the magic only bounced off of Henry’s chest in thick droplets of water. There was nothing to heal. 

“You’re cured, my boy.”

 

**Seed VI**

 

They spent spring in the valley, healing among the flowers and trees, feeding their growing harvest with enchanted water and tender affection. It began when Killian received word that the woman he’d helped six months ago on the beach had peacefully passed away in her sleep from old age. Since she had no family, she wanted to gift her humble cottage to the man that had given her hope that good could conquer even death itself. Killian and Henry moved in three days later, leaving  _ The Jewel of the Realm  _ and docking her along the coast. 

Their new home had everything they needed - bright sun, clean windows opened for gentle breezes, a garden of tulips, a pathway to the village and another to the ocean shoreline, and most importantly, each other. Though he was now raising a young boy on his own, Killian was still able to see his patients, many of whom would travel right to the house. He gave Henry everything he asked for, and Henry never asked for more than Killian could give. 

At least, that’s how it was after the first day together in the cabin. 

“Can’t we go back to visit?” Henry pleaded, tears streaming down his face. The loss was still fresh on his face, since less than a week had passed since they’d left. “She’s my  _ mom, _ and I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her!” 

“I didn’t get a chance either, but we were more concerned with saving your life! I don’t know what taking you back will do to your health, so  _ please _ Henry, don’t ask me to take you back. Ask for anything else, but don’t ask for that.” 

Henry panted, fists balled at his side, and Killian was worried Henry might chuck the nearby flower pot at his head. No projectiles came, and instead, Henry unclenched his hands and nodded. 

“Okay, so try to find a way to save her. You’re the Healer of the Seas, aren’t you?” 

So, that’s exactly what Killian did. In between making meals, watering plants, healing those who staggered to his doorstep, and spending quiet time with Henry, Killian did everything he could to search for a way to turn a goddess back into a mortal. There were ways, he discovered, just not pleasant ones. Even the ones that had bearable consequences wouldn’t apply to the Goddess of the Underworld. Nevertheless, his quest continued. 

In the meantime, they healed in the yellow sun and the clear night skies. They talked through their fears, calmed each other in fits of temper, and supported the other when the valley became lonely. Even with the chirping birds and the running stream, their home was missing the one person they both longed for most. Some days Henry felt it worse than others, like her birthday or the night of the spring solstice. 

Today was such a day, though it bore no special occasion to make Henry miss his mother other than the quiet change from spring to summer. Killian took it as an opportunity to speak to his own mother. Simply speaking into nothing and pretending she was listening was enough for him. Part of him wondered if she really listened when he spoke to her.  

He found a corner of the forest where the stream opened to the sea, and sat upon one of the large stepping stones. Swinging his feet in the clear water, Killian stared out at the rest of the ocean, admiring the way it seemed to fit so perfectly with the horizon, a pair that was meant to be. 

“I just don’t know if this is it,” he muttered aloud. “I’m not sure if this is where our tales end, Henry and I, but it feels so incomplete. I suppose I thought realizing my destiny and living it through would feel… like the book could finally be closed. Like I’d read all there is to be read.” He dipped his hand in the water, pulling it out covered in his magic. “But really, I feel as though I’ve only read the beginning.” 

“It’s a book I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading,” a voice spoke. Killian jolted, and spun to see a woman sitting at his side. She looked young, long orange curls falling down her back and splayed on the rock beneath them. Her eyes were a familiar shade of blue and she wore a short sea-colored dress made of lace and billowy cotton. Pearls hung from her ears, and she was incredibly beautiful for a mysterious woman who appeared out of nowhere. When she noticed he was staring, she gave a kind smile and turned her serene face to the sun. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Killian,” she said. “But you did come out here to speak with me. It’d be a shame not to chat with you after coming all this way.” 

His eyes widened, but he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Mother?” 

Alaese grinned and opened her arms. Leaning into his mother’s embrace, Killian felt his body relax as he inhaled her fragrance, sweet like pomegranates and salty like briny mist. His worries and insecurities drained away as she cupped the back of his head, a motherly touch that could still bring so much comfort even in his adulthood. She’d never come to him like this before, but this one touch was enough to soothe the ache of growing up alone, even if just a little bit. 

“You’ve had a difficult year,” she said, pulling back. She held his hands in hers, and gave them a comforting squeeze. “But you’ve been so good, so  _ brave _ , Killian. I truly am proud of you.” 

Killian’s cheeks ran red at the unfamiliarity of being praised, and he shrugged.

“I don’t know if I deserve it. I should’ve been able to heal Henry so I wouldn’t have to separate him from his mother. Now, because of me, a boy will grow up without his mother, and I know better than anyone how greatly that hurts.” His eyes shot up as he realized what he said. “Not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve-” 

She shook her head and interrupted: “Killian, I know how hard it was for you to grow up without me. I wanted to be there for you, but I was forced to choose my responsibilities for my land and people over what I really wanted - motherhood.” He listened intently as she ran a thumb over his knuckles. “But I always watched over you, always tried to whisper guidance and love in your ears.” 

“I know,” Killian admitted. “I heard it.” 

“But, my son, it doesn’t have to be that way for every deity, especially not the ones who didn’t choose their power.” 

“I have spent weeks trying to find a way to free her, but there’s nothing.” 

“There’s  _ always  _ something, Killian. That’s why I’ve come here. The answer to your problem is actually quite simple.” The playful look of a secret lit her face and she leaned in close. Killian’s eyes bore into hers, anxious for the solution he’d been searching for. “True love can break any curse.”

Killian felt his heart drop into his stomach. If it were that simple, Emma’s curse would have been broken by now. He rose from the stone and immersed his feet into the creek. He stood, allowing the flowing water to trickle by his legs, and turned back to his mother. 

“It’s not true love,” he spat bitterly.  

“And why do you think that?” He lowered his eyes and glared at the ground, but said nothing. “Killian, true love has to be put through a test. If it was only the sweet feelings of infatuation, then everyone would have it. True love is the rarest magic of all.” 

Alaese rose from the rock and stood beside him. As soon as her skin converged with the water, it began to glimmer like waves did when hit by the sun’s afternoon rays. Thin, tiny strings rose from the creek like liquid thread, turning the bottom of her skirt into a transparent wave, glistening and swirling at her legs. Sometimes Killian forgot his mother was the goddess of the sea, and to see her in her natural splendor made him hopeful. 

Perhaps there was truth to her words and he  _ could  _ save Emma. 

“You think Emma and I have passed this test?” he murmured, unsure. 

“I think you let yourself forgive her and trust her after being hurt by her. That you set aside your feelings for her to do what was right and save her son. That, even now, your intentions are selfless and genuine. Endless trials were placed before you, yet you did not falter.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You could go to her now, and I’m willing to bet you’d find I’m right.” 

And thus the decision was made. 

Knowing Henry was safe in the care of his good friend, Robin, was all Killian needed before he packed his leather satchel and set sail to the cove where he once stood with Emma. It was a journey he took alone, but there was solace in knowing his mother was watching over him. 

He remembered his first meeting with Emma with a bittersweet tug in his chest and the day she brought him here. Walking into the unknown with an astoundingly fascinating woman had made him feel hesitant and somewhat ludicrous. This time, standing before the expansive black stone wall, Killian did not feel anything but voracious confidence. He placed his hand on the smooth surface, nearly flinching at the pinch of dark magic radiating onto his skin. 

“Let me in to see her,” he said sternly. When nothing happened, he demanded again, this time smacking his hand against the rock. A sharp shock zipped into his hand, as if this entrance to Hades was saying  _ back off _ . When Killian looked up from his red palm, the wall had faded, leaving the entire murky Underworld landscape laid before him. He knew where he needed to go, so he sprinted through the hauntingly familiar lands to the bright ivory castle on the hill. 

Navigating through the palace was as easy as breathing. His mind played tricks on him as he dashed through the solemn corridors, noises he’d heard in this place that made his stay here so much better - the gentle trickle of the River Styx nearby, Henry’s laughter when Killian would tell him a bad joke, and Emma’s sweet encouragements when he kissed the spot behind her ear. The noises tugged and pulled him along, guiding him to where he needed to be. 

And there she was. 

Trying to regain control of his gasping, Killian wiped sweat from his forehead. His heart stopped at the vision of the Queen of the Underworld standing at the same balcony where he first kissed her. Unlike the many black dresses she wore, this dress was the color of blush and ash mixed together. The skirt billowed in the wind, loose and free, alongside strands of her curled blonde hair. She looked out over the land with strong shoulders, but her posture was missing the ease and serenity he saw when they were together. If he wasn’t so anxious to hold her in his arms, he would have lingered a few breaths and admired the elegance of her regency. 

Instead, he took a deep breath and called out, “Emma?” 

She didn’t turn at first, only bent her ear to the sound of his voice. Killian frowned. He’d rushed all the way here based on an impulsive feeling, and he hadn’t stopped to consider maybe Emma didn’t want to see him. Maybe she wouldn’t want to give up all her power to give their love a chance. The color drained from his face as he realized maybe their love wasn’t true because she didn’t really love him, she merely liked having someone around. 

He took a few cautious steps forward, the soles of his boots clicking against the marble floor. This time she spun and looked at him, hearing him draw near. Hope flooded him when he saw the beaming smile on her face. Maybe his fears were wrong after all. 

Holding his hands together at his waist, he stopped walking a few feet away from her. His eyes drank in the sight of her face, rosy lips parted and cheeks flushed from surprise. There was not a more beautiful sight in all the realms than his love. 

“I know arriving here unannounced is bad form, but I’ve spent weeks trying to find a way to make things right so we could be together. I think I finally have the answer, but it all depends on what you want,” Killian rambled, taking a tiny step forward. “Because all I know is that I love you much more than I thought possible, and if you’ll come with me, I have this lovely cottage in the valley with Henry. All we want is for you to come home to us, but if that isn’t what you want, or you want to live with just you and Henry, then I’ll step aside.” 

When Emma looked like she would answer, Killian took another brave step forward. 

“Of course, Emma Swan, if you felt the same way about me that I do you, then I would want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life by your side. I’ll help remind you every day who you are - the woman with the heart and hair of gold, the mother of a truly wonderful young lad, the survivor of so many horrible evils, the most beautiful creature the gods have created and I’ve had the privilege of loving.” 

Emma’s hands fell to her side. She looked like she was trying her best to hold back tears, but several overflowed and dripped down her cheeks. Killian’s jaw dropped, and he wondered if he said something wrong. 

She was grinning wider than he’d ever seen her smile and sprinting toward him with a giggle of glee falling off of her lips. He met her halfway, catching her as she practically jumped into his arms. They spun with the momentum of it, the skirts of her dress flying out around them. He set her feet back in the ground, still keeping her close enough that he could feel her heartbeat pressed up against his. 

“What’s it to be?” he asked. Emma’s smile faded enough for him to notice it. 

“Killian, it’s not that I’m not happy to see you here. I’m overjoyed, truly! But there’s no way I can come back with you, as much as I wish it.” 

“Patience, my love,” he murmured, lips nearing hers. 

When he kissed her, it was unlike the dozens of other times their lips touched. Emma must have felt it too, the way it seemed to unravel all the darkness in the air around them and make it dissipate into nothingness. Her fingers grasped onto his collar, tugging him closer, and when Killian felt like his heart might burst, there was a flash. 

They broke apart, eyes wide as they watched the beam of rainbow travel throughout the land. It seemed whatever the flash of colorful light touched transformed immediately, as if cleansed of darkness. Flowers erupted in what used to be desolate patches of grass like thousands of exploding wildflower gardens. The red sun in the sky changed its hue, turning from stark red to a softer pink, melting orange blended around the edges. 

Emma peered down at her wrist, and gasped. Her tattoo was gone. 

“The darkness is gone!” she cried. It was beautiful news to his ears, because he knew what it meant. 

“It’s true love.” 

Emma and Killian returned to the Land of the Living where Henry knelt in their gardens plucking weeds. When he saw his mother, her name left his lips in a cracked sob, and he pummeled toward her, dirty knees and all. Killian’s throat closed at the sight of it, and whispered a quiet “Thank you” to the sea. 

This was how they began their life together - a bit tattered, but not entirely worse for wear. 

Emma and Killian married in the final days of spring, when the weather was warm and the air smelled like buttercups. It was a quiet ceremony with their friends, and right before it started, the sea goddess decided to deliver her wedding present. Theirs names were David and Snow, a couple Killian had met once to help the woman through her second childbirth, her first child long missing. Emma embraced her parents dressed in white lace, trembling as she told them she was free, she was loved. 

They were also pleased to discover Emma’s magic hadn’t disappeared entirely: it merely purified. With his help, Emma honed her abilities to be used for healing, and they grew to be equally as powerful as his were. With time, their reputation grew. There were few who did not know of the Healer of the Spring and Healer of the Sea. 

It wasn’t easy. Sometimes nightmares plagued Emma’s sleep, images of millions of faces who passed through her old kingdom, tortured and damned. Killian would sweep her sweaty hair from her face, press a kiss to her forehead, and remind her, “Your people are safe now. The darkness is gone, the land brings only peace and rest.” She knew he was right. With no one to rule of over the land, it had taken sovereignty over itself, judging the souls, but always bringing them peace. Each burn of darkness was vanished from the Underworld for good. Knowing this helped Emma breathe, helped her sleep, helped her delight in enjoying her own life. 

Emma and Killian lived out their epilogues together in peaceful harmony with each other and with the blessing of life. They read books together by the sea, and tended their harvest with tender touches. When spring came, they stood side by side and watched their daughters chase Henry through the fields of wildflowers, and when the time was right, they told their story. 


End file.
